Chapter 3 - The Panic in Colorado
Three hundred miles north of Denver, inside the sunlit kitchen of the suburban home my mother had shared with Victor for over a decade, the illusion of triumph was evaporating in real time.
Victor Pike stared at his laptop screen, his face drained of its usual arrogant color. The screen displayed an electronic notification from Alpine Title & Escrow: TRANSACTION HALTED. ESCROW FROZEN PURSUANT TO POTENTIAL FRAUD INVESTIGATION.
“Marianne!” Victor shouted, his voice cracking as he spun around in his chair. “Marianne, get in here right now!”
My mother hurried in from the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her expression irritated by his tone. “Victor, stop yelling. I told you, Brianna is still packing her bags for the trip, and—”
“The trip is canceled!” Victor slammed his palm against the laminate countertop, rattling the ceramic coffee mugs. “The entire sale—gone. The escrow account has been locked by the state attorney general’s office!”
Marianne blinked, her irritation instantly replaced by confusion. “Locked? That’s impossible. We signed the deeds. The broker said everything was cleared through probate!”
“The broker didn't know about the trust!” Victor snarled, pacing across the kitchen tile. “And he didn't know about the affidavit!”
Color began to drain from my mother’s face. “The... the affidavit about Elena?”
“Yes, the affidavit!” Victor yelled, grabbing his hair with both hands. “The title company’s compliance officer just called me. They ran a cross-check with the Department of Defense database because the seller’s name on the primary deed didn’t match the probate records. They found out Elena is alive, well, and serving as a captain at Fort Bliss!”
Marianne staggered back a step, her hand flying to her chest. “Alive? But... but we swore she was—we needed the paperwork to clear the mountain title!”
“We committed federal perjury, Marianne!” Victor roared, the realization finally breaking through his dense wall of self-absorption. “We swore under oath that she was dead! The state police are calling it intentional estate fraud and military tampering! They’re talking about asset seizure! They’re talking about prison time!”
The kitchen grew deathly quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator.
Marianne lowered herself slowly onto one of the wooden kitchen chairs, her lips trembling. “Prison? But we’re family... we only wanted to fix our debts. We wanted to give Brianna a proper start...”
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“Family doesn't matter to a federal prosecutor,” Victor spat, grabbing his car keys from the hook by the door. “I’m calling our lawyer. If he can’t fix this today, we’re going to need a criminal defense attorney—and a very good alibi.”
He threw the front door open and stormed out to his truck, leaving my mother sitting alone at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the wall as the reality of what they had done finally settled around her like lead weight.
